Don't Druids Worship the Full Moon?
by r4ven3
Summary: This is a crossover fic featuring Harry and Ruth from Spooks, and Harry (Nelson) and Ruth from the Ruth Galloway novels by Elly Griffiths. While a knowledge of these novels will help, it is not necessary. As the title suggests, the bulk of the story takes place on a full moon, so things happen. Told in 3 chapters, which will be posted quickly.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: It's been a while since I read the Ruth Galloway books which are set at this time - some time in 2013 - so forgive me if there are some inconsistencies in my time line in this fic, especially in relation to what was occurring in canon in the RG books. Whilst this is an AU scenario, I have endeavoured to remain true to the characters, and to the place where this fic takes place. St David's Church is fictional.**_

* * *

The drive has passed quickly enough, and to Harry's relief, Ruth has slept for much of the journey. Having reached the outskirts of King's Lynn in Norfolk, he slows his car, and the change in momentum wakes Ruth, who lifts her head from where she's been resting it against the window, before looking around her.

"We're here?"

Harry nods, his eyes on the road. These past two years, since Sasha Gavrik had aimed his pistol at him, but shot Ruth in her side when she had (foolishly) stood between them, have been difficult ones for them, and he welcomes the opportunity to spend time away from London, far from the Grid, and (hopefully) far from their shared history. He suspects that even were they to travel together to some distant galaxy, their history would follow them, reminding them that no matter how hard they try, or how much they might both want it, they can never work as a couple.

"I've never been here," Ruth muses, her eyes absorbing the details. "It's beautiful."

All Harry sees are narrow streets and grey buildings, hardly beautiful in his eyes. He glances across the car's interior, enjoying watching her unseen as she takes in everything she sees. _She_ is beautiful. The market town of King's Lynn is old and cold and trapped in another time, while _she_ is warm and fresh and (remarkably) alive. Ruth will be absorbing the history of the place through her nostrils, while their own history often leaves his throat tight as he struggles with the memories of their past, a painful series of regrets and lost opportunities.

Harry parks his car down a side street beside the narrow façade of the King's Lynn police station. They sit for a moment, both staring ahead. "We're a little early," he says, just for something to say.

"Maybe they'll offer us a cup of tea," she suggests, smiling weakly at him.

There has always been so much between them, and now there is something more, and Ruth doesn't quite know how to face it. They were difficult before, never quite making it to leaving the service together (which they should have done), and now they simply stumble along, running into one another a couple of times a week, being achingly polite, neither mentioning that night only a month earlier. They have just spent two and a half solid hours alone in the car together, and the event-which-can-never-be-spoken-about has sat in the back seat all the way, never to be mentioned.

They are sitting in a small waiting room, just off the entrance to the police station, each juggling a cup of tea on their laps. The chairs are uncomfortable – hard seats with straight backs. They still haven't looked one another in the eye, which leaves Harry feeling deeply sad.

"The DCI's name is Harry Nelson," he says, feeling the need to break the silence which sits heavily between them.

"So you said. Two Harry's. That's almost two too many," Ruth says.

Harry has no idea how to reply to that, so he says nothing. Is she joking, and if not, how will they manage to put aside their messy recent history while appearing professional?

"I already know who it is," Ruth continues quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears.

"The body beneath the church?" So does Harry, but he'd rather not talk about that now.

Ruth is prevented from answering by the sudden presence of a tall, dark haired man in the doorway. He quickly glances from one to the other, and then steps towards Harry, his hand outstretched. "DCI Harry Nelson," he says. "You can call me Nelson. Almost everyone does."

Ruth smiles into the man's eyes, noticing a warm intelligence in their depths. He is the opposite of Harry Pearce. He is direct, he has a full head of hair, he is tall, although not slim, and he appears cheerful, while the man beside her, who is now on his feet, rarely cracks a smile. Ruth decides that she likes this other Harry.

"Dr Galloway is already at the site. She was the one in charge when the skeletal remains were discovered."

" _She_?" The DCI is leading them through the front doors of the police station, directly to a battered Mercedes, which appears to have taken part in one of those road tests devised by the crew from _Top Gear_ for their own entertainment: From what height must a Mercedes be dropped before it falls apart?

"Dr Ruth Galloway. She teaches archaeology at the University of North Norfolk. She's a forensics expert," Nelson says quickly, as he opens the back door of his car, indicating they should both sit in the back seat together. "You might be safer in the back," he says.

Ruth is still reeling from the news that the archaeologist is a woman called Ruth, while Harry is hoping that they are safe in the hands of this man. "I could have taken my car," he says, as Nelson starts the car, and then bursts away from the kerb, ignoring all other traffic on the road.

"No need," Nelson replies, negotiating a roundabout at speed.

DCI Harry Nelson likes to drive, and his preferred speed is flat out. He enjoys the feeling of the vehicle being in his hands only, racing along at speeds well beyond the official limits. He lifts his eyes to the rear view mirror to see both his passengers with their eyes closed. Neither of them appear to him to be the praying type, although he knows looks can be deceptive. Nor do the spies in the back of his car seem like new-agers. Cathbad, a friend of Ruth Galloway's, is one of those odd types who worships the henge and the trees and the nature spirits, or whatever the hell they are. Cathbad claims to be a druid, and Nelson only tolerates him because he's good with Kate, his three-year-old daughter, who adores the man, strange as he is. Cathbad's real name is Michael, and he wears a purple cloak, for God's sake. The couple in the back seat of his car are dressed smartly in black coats. City folk! Mi5 or not, city folk are soft. He smiles, then plants his foot to the floor as he heads the car along the A17 towards Sutton Bridge.

Noticing Ruth's fingers hooked around the fabric of her coat, her knuckles white, Harry reaches out to take her hand in his. She doesn't pull away, so he grips her hand tighter, sliding his fingers between hers, before relaxing against the seat while this unhinged DCI takes them closer to the God in which he doesn't believe. If they are to die today, at least they'll die together.

* * *

Just before Sutton Bridge, Nelson turns the Mercedes off the A17, and noses the car towards the sea, slowing down on the uneven surface of the unsealed road. St David's Church stands alone, a stark shell with a spire pointing towards Heaven, reminding Ruth that in all probability, people once lived around here, trudging to this church each Sunday morning, their children straggling behind them. For a moment she stands alone, her eyes taking in the church, behind which the marsh leads to the sea in the distance. She shudders, imagining cold days and nights when the parishioners sat on bare pews, listening to their priest as he spoke kind words to lift their spirits during hard times; or perhaps he was one of those fire and brimstone preachers who warned the parishioners of a punishing God. When Harry turns to see what has become of her, she hurries to join him.

Nelson stands beside a rather bedraggled, mid-forties woman. She is not remarkable in any way, not until Ruth notices her eyes, sharp and intelligent. "This is Dr Ruth Galloway," Nelson says, turning towards Harry and Ruth, hoping they'll introduce themselves.

"Harry Pearce," Harry says gruffly, offering his hand to the woman who appears small beside the imposing presence of Harry Nelson. "And this is Ruth Evershed. Ruth is an intelligence analyst working at the Home Office."

Ruth Evershed is impressed with Ruth Galloway. They are around the same height, and Dr Galloway shakes hands with each of them in turn, looking them in the eye, her gaze direct and steady. She reminds Ruth of many of the female academics she has known – confident in her field, passionate about her area of expertise, and not given to spending a lot of time or effort on her appearance, which is not to say that Ruth Galloway isn't attractive. Below the mop of brown wavy hair, blown about by the wind, Ruth Galloway's skin is smooth, and her grey eyes are soft and kind. Ruth also notices that as she speaks to each of her and Harry, the Other Harry watches the Other Ruth closely. In his eyes Ruth sees admiration, and … something else which she finds hard to define. Are these two involved? She wouldn't be surprised. Working in close proximity throws people together in unexpected ways. She should know, although just lately, she and Harry have drifted apart, unable to find their way back to one another.

"Fortunately, the soil underground is dry, so wellies won't be necessary, but you'll need to wear these." Ruth Galloway hands a pair of disposable gloves to each of Harry and Ruth, and then she takes another pair from her pocket, shoving them towards Nelson.

"Keep them," he says. "I promise to not touch anything."

"You'll wear them, or stay above ground." Her words are a direct order, which Ruth notices Nelson obeys without question. Interesting. It's clear that here, on a site, Dr Galloway is in charge.

The church is a few miles from Sutton Bridge, away from the main roads, between the A17 and the sea. As she leads them through the remains of the church, Ruth Galloway tells them a little of the church's history. Beside her, Ruth can feel Harry becoming impatient. She knows he's keen to be getting underground, to the scene where the body was found. She lifts her eyes to his, and very slowly shakes her head. He nods his agreement. He will behave himself.

"Given the church is only a little over three hundred years old," the Other Ruth continues, "the presence of the crypt beneath where the vestry had been was common knowledge among the locals. Unfortunately it's been plundered numerous times, so nothing is left of the slate floor. Just a month or so ago a group of students from UNN – that's my university, the University Of North Norfolk -" Ruth Galloway smiles apologetically towards each of Ruth and Harry, since neither have heard of this new university. Ruth glances up at Nelson, to see him watching the Other Ruth, admiration in his eyes. Well, she _is_ knowledgeable, but Ruth is sure that it is more than just her mind that he admires. "- chose the crypt for their next dig." She hesitates. "It's dark below ground, but I have a torch." Ruth Galloway smiles, lifting a torch which Ruth thinks is large enough to fell a man of Nelson's size, were it well aimed. She carefully opens the only door still intact within the shell of the church. "Stay close to me, and you'll be fine."

Ruth wants to grab Harry's hand for support, but it's hardly professional to rely on him in such a personal way, so she ducks her head, and follows Ruth Galloway through the doorway, carefully treading the dozen or so steps down to the crypt. Behind her she hears Harry Nelson ask Harry Pearce whether he'd ever visited an archaeological dig. Harry's dry response is, "Not that I can remember."

They pass through a narrow tunnel, until it widens to reveal what appears to be a cave. Dr Galloway lights two lanterns, which once they reach full illumination, brighten the cave until it is fully visible, the light dancing on the ceiling. Close to one wall, a channel of around a metre and a half wide, and two and a half metres long reveals a gaping hole in the soil. Ruth Galloway stands beside the hole in the ground, which to Ruth, resembles a large grave. Nelson stands to one side, leaving room for Ruth and Harry to join the archaeologist by the graveside.

"This is where the body was found," she says, once they are both beside her, "and although my students were hoping to uncover historical objects from the seventeenth century, the discovery of a body, and the accompanying weaponry caused much excitement."

Ruth and Harry both peer into the hole to see a curved hollow where the body had been. "Where are they now?" Ruth asks, disappointed that all that is left is an empty hole.

"The body is in the morgue at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in King's Lynn. It's in a locked drawer." She smiles at the words, `locked drawer', and Ruth smiles back.

"The weapons?"

Ruth Galloway looks towards Nelson, who realises that this is his department. "They're under lock and key at the police station. Only two of them have been cleaned, for identification purposes only."

"And?" Ruth can detect the irritation in Harry's voice.

"They're Russian in origin, although any form of identification, such as serial numbers, has been removed."

Ruth feels Harry sighing beside her. She doesn't know what to do when he's like this. He is almost unreachable, and reluctant to engage with others.

Harry Nelson continues speaking, moving closer to Ruth Galloway. "My boss wanted you here to identify the weapons, but also to identify the body."

"C-14 testing showed me that the body was less that ten years in this grave. It's definitely male -" the Other Ruth continues.

"How can you be sure the body is male?" Harry says sharply.

"Pelvic bones are noticeably narrower in males than in females. In a female skeleton, it is even possible to determine whether a woman has given birth." Ruth Galloway turns, and kneels carefully at the edge of the grave, before leaning down and scraping the soil at the side of the grave, revealing the edges of what appears to be a candlestick. "We needed you to see where the body had been buried. My students are keen to return to this dig, but it can't be opened again until the body is identified."

"Were it a murder which took place locally," Nelson adds, "then that would be down to my team to discover what happened. If it's something else, then … that's why you're here."

"Is it all right if I take some pictures?" Ruth asks, grabbing her phone from within the deep pocket of her coat. When the Other Ruth nods, Ruth moves quickly around the grave, capturing images from every angle. Once she has finished, she turns once more to the archaeologist. "I'll need to see the body, and to take photos of him. Then," she says, turning towards Nelson, "the guns -"

"Sure," he says, brightening, "but you'll need to check the body first. Ruth thinks he's Russian. She had the bone mineral analysis done." In the four or more years he's worked closely with Ruth Galloway, Nelson has picked up a smattering of archaeological terminology. Perhaps he's showing off in front of her, but he also needs her to know that he pays attention when she speaks.

Ruth Evershed glances quickly at Harry, who lifts his eyebrows, and then nods. Interpreting his nod as permission for her to speak openly about her suspicions, she takes a breath, and then turns to the archaeologist and the policeman. Not for the first time, she wonders how likely is it that a policeman and an archaeologist would be attracted to one another. She concludes it's about as likely as a grouchy Mi5 section head and his former analyst.

"I have a theory about the identity of the body," she says carefully, glancing quickly towards Harry, who is staring moodily into the grave, perhaps contemplating leaping in feet first. "I suspect he's FSB."

"FSB?" Nelson asks, his dark eyebrows gathering like storm clouds over his eyes.

"It's the Russian secret service."

"Do you have a name for this Ruskie?" Nelson asks, glancing quickly at the Other Ruth, whose eyes are on Ruth.

"I do, but I'm reluctant to share that detail until a DNA match is made."

This time, when Ruth glances at Harry, he is looking at her, but he is not smiling with admiration. Were she a betting woman, she would be putting a bet each way on Harry contemplating how he'd once believed that this dead Russian was his son, and that when he'd shared that news with her, it had thrown them apart, like a live grenade had been lobbed between them. They are about to embark upon the archaeology, not only of the Norfolk coastal area, but also of their long and troubled relationship.


	2. Chapter 2

St David's church is a mere two kilometres as the crow flies from her own cottage on the Saltmarsh, only a stone's throw from the ocean. Ruth Galloway shudders a little as she climbs into her car, also battered, but not as a result of driving it at full speed, like Nelson. Her car is old, and it needs replacing, but while it still serves her, she hasn't the heart to part with it. Nelson has already indicated she should follow him back to King's Lynn, along with the two rather restrained Mi5 personnel.

"I need you for the archaeology," he had said quietly, once the grim pair from Mi5 had climbed into the back of Nelson's Mercedes. "I need your expertise." Ruth suspects that Nelson is a little afraid of the two members from Her Majesty's Security Service, and he needs her to hold his hand, metaphorically speaking, of course.

"They do realise that their lives are in danger, don't they?" she asks, nodding towards his car.

"You don't object when I drive Katie around."

"You don't drive like a crazed man when she's in the car with you," Ruth counters, knowing that Nelson would never put their precious daughter's life in danger.

"And nor will I ever," Nelson replies.

Ruth follows Nelson's car away from the church, his passengers no doubt dreading the drive back. She likes the quiet woman, the other Ruth with the soulful eyes. She would rather like to know what it is has made this woman so sad. If it's the rather gruff man who accompanies her, she'd be surprised. That man is hardly likely to be someone to lose one's heart to, but then again, neither is Nelson. Nelson is a doer, and so not prone to romantic musings, for which Ruth is rather grateful.

Ruth decides that if she's to ring Kate's babysitter, she'd best do it before she reaches the A17. Sandra is happy to have Kate for as long as Ruth needs, so she settles behind the wheel, enjoying the prospect of spending an extra hour or two in Nelson's presence.

* * *

Once they reach the police station in King's Lynn, Ruth Galloway watches from a distance as the `other' Harry and Ruth tumble from Nelson's car, relief evident on their faces. She walks behind the three of them, aware that her presence during the inspection of the weapons is not necessary, but Nelson would like her there, perhaps for moral support. Ruth briefly wonders if there is such a thing as _immoral_ support, and if so, is that what she provides for Nelson?

Upstairs, both women step aside while Harry Nelson removes eight firearms – six pistols and two automatic rifles – from a wide and deep locked drawer in his office. All are either Makarov or Gyurza, which identifies them as being used by the Russian military or secret service. Harry nods, and then Nelson returns them to the locked drawer. "I'll arrange for them to be picked up," Harry says. "They can't stay here." That will be a job for Special Branch, which will make Harry Nelson's day.

At Nelson's insistence, Ruth Galloway travels with them to the hospital, leaving her car in the lane beside the police station, just behind Harry's Range Rover. She sits in the front seat beside Nelson. Both Harry and Ruth are surprised when Nelson drives all the way to the hospital within the speed limit. At the hospital, Nelson shows his police ID, and Harry flashes his security service ID before the morgue attendant will unlock the drawer in which the skeleton of the Russian male has been stored.

Ruth steps away as the other three gather around the remains. She has seen dead bodies, and she has even seen a skeleton or two, but nothing prepares her for the sight of this body, because a body is what it is. It is the remains of a man who once lived and breathed, and perhaps also loved and lost. The skin around his chest and abdomen is well preserved, while the remainder of the body is little more than bones.

"Have you calculated his height?" Harry asks, and Ruth wonders how he manages to cut himself off from the probability that this mess of skin and bones belongs to the young man he had once believed to be his illegitimate son.

"Yes," Ruth Galloway replies. "He would have been close to 5'11", and even his last meal was partly preserved in his stomach."

"And what was his last meal?" Ruth asks, having moved close to Harry.

"Lamb, with potatoes and sprouts." Ruth Galloway turns to smile at Harry and Ruth. Yes, she enjoys her work, all right, thinks Ruth. "The lamb was English in origin, which suggests he spent at least his last days in the UK, and was perhaps even killed here."

"You can tell all that?" Harry asks, and Ruth is sure she can hear irritation in his tone.

"Not me, no. I had the stomach contents sent away for analysis."

Harry nods, then realising Ruth is close beside him, he looks down at her and gives her a weak smile, the first she's seen from him all day. "Who'd have thought?" he says to her quietly.

"We still don't know who he was," Ruth reminds him.

"And I imagine his cause of death was that hole in his head?" Harry muses, leaning closer to the body.

"Twenty-five millimetre Tokarev pistol," Nelson says, his eyes holding Harry's. Nelson and Harry are engaging in a pissing competition. Ruth can almost smell the testosterone from where she stands. She chances a quick glance at Ruth Galloway to see the other woman lift her eyebrows, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"And have you been able to determine how long he was in that grave?" Harry asks.

"Not accurately, no," Ruth Galloway replies, gazing along the length of the remains on the gurney. "A lot depends on the temperature of the air during decomposition, whether he was killed just before burial, or a few days, or even weeks, but given all that, he'd have to have died at least a year ago, perhaps even longer. The grave was five to six metres underground, and the temperature in the crypt is a fairly constant ten degrees Celsius. I wouldn't expect this degree of decomposition were he to have been killed during the past year."

While the archaeologist has been speaking, Ruth has again watched Nelson's face. She is sure that his expression is one of more than professional admiration. Is the Other Ruth aware of his adoration? Ruth is aware that Harry adores her, but it's a very long time since he has looked at her in the way Nelson is gazing at Ruth Galloway.

* * *

It is Nelson's idea that the four of them visit Ruth's and Harry's hotel for a drink. "Just a quick one," he says, heading straight to his car, while Harry and the two Ruth's stare after him, unable to come up with a reason why they shouldn't be having a drink together.

"Are you free to join us?" Ruth asks Ruth Galloway. She and Harry are headed to the hotel anyway, and to say no to a drink seems ungracious.

"Just a quick one," Ruth Galloway says, not realising that her words match Nelson's.

At the hotel, Nelson helps Harry carry his and Ruth's overnight bags upstairs to their rooms, while Ruth buys a squash for herself and an orange juice for the archaeologist. "I can't stay long. I have to pick up my daughter," Ruth Galloway explains. "Kate is three, and I don't like leaving her with the babysitter for too long. I spend so little time with her as it is."

"Can't your husband help?" No sooner have the words left her mouth than Ruth realises her gaffe. Not everyone with children has a husband … or a partner. The Other Ruth may be undergoing a difficult breakup, or she may be bringing up her child alone, with no partner to share the workload.

"There is no husband," the Other Ruth says quietly, before sipping her drink. "I'm bringing her up alone, although her … father sees her regularly."

"That's good … for you both," Ruth says brightly, hoping she is redeemed by her enthusiasm for the Other Ruth's childcare arrangements. Truthfully, she's not terribly skilled in casual conversation of any kind, but especially conversations involving children. Ruth has no children of her own, and as the years tick by, and she and Harry are still miles apart, the probability of her ever being a mother is fast approaching zero.

By the time the men return, the two Ruth's are back to safe subjects, discussing the likelihood that the skeleton is a certain (unnamed) Russian agent who had disappeared only weeks after he'd made an attempt on the life of Harry Pearce. "No-one has seen him since early November the year before last," Ruth tells the Other Ruth. "At the time it was assumed that he'd returned to Russia, although there was no evidence to support that. It's as though he disappeared from the face of the earth."

While Ruth has been speaking, the Other Ruth is drawn into a world so unlike her own. Everything in her world – or _almost_ everything – is ordered and explicable. Given she has a three year old, not everything is ordered, or even as she would like it, especially when the man she wants above all others is married. In the domain of her work, the past and the present continually overlap one another, creating a layered reality, one which provides her with a peculiar sense of security and order in a world in which one can easily become lost.

Harry and Nelson have sat down, each with a beer. Ruth can sense that Harry is happier, and more relaxed. As for Nelson, he appears as cheerful as ever, although she notices that whenever he chances a glance at the Other Ruth – which he does often - his face clouds over with something approaching sadness, or perhaps regret. She concludes that there is some deep history between these two. _Snap_ , she thinks. Perhaps Nelson's history with this quiet and serious Ruth is similar to hers and Harry's. Her thoughts are interrupted by the man himself.

"I forgot to raise one very fundamental question, Dr Galloway," Harry says, using her formal title so as to avoid confusing the two women. "How old was the body at the time of his death?"

"No younger than twenty-five, and no older than forty. Does it fit with your mysterious FSB agent?"

"It does," Harry replies, suddenly reminded of how dramatic had been the Russian visit almost two years earlier. For some hours he had been afraid that he's lost Ruth, but she'd pulled through, and somehow their plans for leaving the service together had been put aside. After her recovery Ruth had wanted to return to work, and nothing he said could change her mind. _I need to feel useful,_ she'd said on more than one occasion, while he'd interpreted her words to mean, _I've changed my mind about us, Harry._ And then, just over a month ago, everything had gone terribly, embarrassingly wrong.

So here they are together, at opposite sides of the table, where the distance between them can only be measured in light years.

* * *

It's clear to Nelson that the two grim spies – or one grim spy accompanied by a much nicer one – need to spend some time alone. He surmises they want to talk in private about the guy in the morgue, which is hardly suitable conversation for before bedtime. He and Ruth are standing on the pavement near where both their cars are parked. For a moment they eye one another off.

"I have to grab an Indian," he says, somewhat unnecessarily, but he often doesn't know what to say to this woman whom he desires as much as he desires Michelle … perhaps even more.

"I trust you're talking about a takeaway, and not your plans to kidnap Mr Patel from the convenience store on the corner."

Nelson smiles into Ruth's eyes. "Michelle and the girls are away," he says by way of explanation.

Sensing an opening, Ruth Galloway jumps in feet first. "Would you like to come out to mine for dinner? Kate and I are probably having something with eggs, but you're welcome to join us. If she stays awake long enough, you can put her to bed … that's if you'd like."

Nelson does. He does a whole lot. He can't help the smile which softens his face.

* * *

On the second floor of the hotel, Ruth and Harry stand awkwardly outside their adjoining rooms. Neither knows quite what to say, although they each have a lot they'd _like_ to say to the other. What were we thinking a month ago? What happened? Why haven't either of us wanted to talk about it?

"We have adjoining rooms," Harry says, somewhat unnecessarily, "and seeing that we're spending the night .. here, I thought we might .."

"You thought we might what?"

"Share dinner … in one of our rooms." Preferably mine, but he can hardly say that … can he?

"Whose room?"

"Mine? Yours? You choose."

"Is there a difference?"

Harry shakes his head. "They're identical."

"We'll have it in yours, then, and as the Home Office is footing the bill ..."

Harry nods his understanding. They will have a feast, complete with wine.

* * *

"Daddeeee!" Kate cries, when Ruth opens her front door to Nelson. He opens his arms to Kate, who runs to him, falling against him, burying her face in his chest. Above her head, Nelson lifts his eyes to Ruth apologetically.

As happy as Ruth is that Kate loves her father, she is mildly miffed that she never receives an equally enthusiastic greeting from Kate whenever she collects her from the babysitter. Normally, it's, "Mum, I can count to twelve," or, "Mum, Sandra's cat doesn't like cheese." Perhaps that's because Nelson enjoys playing with Kate, while she likes to teach Kate interesting facts. Ruth is happy that her daughter shares her love of learning.

"Dinner's almost ready," Ruth says, walking away from the father-daughter reunion, and almost tripping over Flint, her cat, who is hell bent on darting through the front door before Nelson closes it.

"What are we having?" Nelson asks, heading to the kitchen, with Kate hanging from one of his arms.

"Chicken breasts, eggs and chips."

"Champion," he says, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, blocking out the beam of light from the living room. Nelson is from Blackpool, and every now and then some quaint little northern-ism falls from his lips. Mostly, Ruth finds it annoying, but on this night, she thinks it's sweet. "What can I do?" he adds, stepping into the kitchen.

"You can be in charge of the chips."

"Hear that, Katie? You and I are in charge of chips." Nelson's eyes are large as he speaks to his daughter, and Kate attaches herself to one of Nelson's legs, chanting, "Charge of chips, charge of chips", which is something else she never does for Ruth. Ruth asks herself again why she'd thought it a good idea to invite Nelson for dinner. After all, it's not his usual time for seeing Kate ... and when is he going to begin calling their daughter by her correct name?

* * *

In Harry's hotel room, what food hasn't been eaten has been put aside, and a bottle of wine takes pride of place on the table between them. They have discussed the food, the likelihood that the body in the morgue is the remains of Sasha Gavrik – around 99.99%, according to Harry - and they have even discussed the probability that Harry Nelson and Ruth Galloway are having an affair.

"I'm positive," Ruth says, watching Harry over the rim of her wine glass. "I'd even go as far as to say that he's her daughter's father."

"She has a daughter?"

Ruth nods. "Three years old."

"What people these days have unprotected sex?" he asks, and Ruth sits back in her chair, barely believing what she is hearing.

" _We_ did, Harry, or don't you remember?"

Ruth watches while Harry's face reddens. "I can't believe you said that," he says.

"One of us had to," she replies, "or were you planning on erasing that particular event from history?"

Harry sighs heavily, carefully placing his glass on the table, avoiding Ruth's eyes. "I can't tell you, Ruth," he says at last, "how ashamed I am of the way I behaved that evening."

"It took two, Harry. I also had too much to drink, and I was … complicit in the act. I can remember thinking at the time that if we didn't do it while we were both drunk, then it was never going to happen."

"I'm not sorry that it happened," he says carefully, his eyes still avoiding hers, "I'm sorry that it happened the way it did. I'd thought about … us … like that .. for years, and then I ruined everything."

Ruth is struck by a sudden wave of compassion for Harry. "Not everything, Harry," she says gently. She avoids mentioning that they may have ruined her sofa, but that is a topic for another time. She slowly gets up, and walks around the table to his side, her eyes on him all the way. She knows this man inside out, and she is ready to know him properly, but this time they both need to be sober. She places one hand on the back of his chair, and bends down, hoping he will lift his face to hers. He does.

They kiss carefully, and when Harry turns in his chair, and grasps her waist with his hands, she wraps her arms around his shoulders. The kiss is no longer careful. It is deep and serious, and they give themselves over to it.

"Your bed or mine?" Harry gasps, once they come up for air.

"Your bed is only a few steps away, while mine is through that door. You work it out."

They are both standing, still entwined in one another, kissing again, while staggering towards the bed. Ruth feels his body pressing against her, and she is happy that a man of almost sixty can respond so quickly. Ruth briefly wonders whether the Other Ruth and Nelson are spending the night together. When the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed, she allows herself to fall backwards, while Harry falls with her, breaking his fall with his elbows. His face is just above hers, and he is laughing, and so she laughs along with him.

This time will be different. This time it will not be over in minutes. This time they have all night.

* * *

"She's out like a light," Nelson says, returning to the living room from upstairs, where he has put Kate to bed. Ruth has Radio 4 turned low, so as to not annoy Nelson, who has been known to tease her about her listening tastes. Ruth is surprised when Nelson grasps her hand and drags her to her feet. "You have to see this," he says, pulling her towards the front door.

Outside on the small front porch, Nelson stands aside to give Ruth a clear view of the Saltmarsh. The night is almost still, and the birds, having found shelter for the night, are quiet. "What do you think?" he asks, watching her face, before turning back to where the light from the full moon is reflected upon the surface of the water, which ripples like millions of water-borne fireflies. The moon offers a warm glow, while the water quivers its thanks.

When Ruth says nothing, Nelson watches her, and seeing her spellbound expression, he slips his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "It's beautiful," she says at last. "Thank you, Nelson."

"I didn't do a thing," he says. Some would say it was down to God, but being a lapsed Catholic, Nelson has no relationship with God, so he's not about to give God credit for anything.

Ruth lifts her face to his, to see him gazing down at her, as though she is the most beautiful woman in the world. "Stay the night," she says softly.

Nelson nods. When he looks back out over the Saltmarsh, a thought strikes him. "Do you think Cathbad is out there somewhere? Don't Druids worship the full moon?"

"I think Judy asked him to babysit Michael. She and Darren are having a night out."

Pity. Nelson had half expected to see Cathbad, purple cloak and all, rising out of the water, his face glowing in the light of the full moon, but even Druids have family obligations. Michael is Cathbad's son with Judy, who's a policewoman at King's Lynn, although Judy's husband, Darren, believes the child to be his. Nelson can barely keep up. He doesn't know how Ruth keeps track of them all. Thinking about it all gives him a headache, although Kate being his daughter is a source of joy for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry Nelson turns to lead Ruth back inside her cottage. Hearing a faint meow, they both turn to see Flint, tail pointed skywards, winding his way towards them. They wait until he is inside before Ruth locks the door behind them. Nelson then takes her hand in his, and they climb the stairs together.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N : This is the final chapter of this fic. Thanks you to the people who have taken time to read this, and to the lovely reviewers. I have enjoyed writing this more than any story I have written for some time. To anyone who hasn't read them, I can recommend the Ruth Galloway books by Elly Griffiths. One reviewer online called them "comfort reading". I have found them addictive.**_

* * *

Ruth Galloway wakes to an empty bed. She lies back against the pillow and closes her eyes. She can still smell Nelson on her skin. She knows she should feel guilty for having invited a married man to spend the night with her, but life is too short to be wallowing in guilt over just one night. It was on a similar night, and in this bed, that she and Nelson had created Kate, binding the three of them together forever. Were he to ever leave Michelle for her, the weight of the resultant guilt would leave her paralysed. She believes that the occasional night with him in her bed is a reasonable alternative to breaking up his marriage. All she has to do is to tweak the wording. She had asked her daughter's father to spend the night. That doesn't sound nearly so bad. Besides, Michelle is away, and Nelson is an adult, capable of making his own decisions.

Kate had been conceived on their first night together, an event which was as spontaneous as it was unplanned. Nelson had turned up at her door, distressed after having witnessed the harrowing grief of the mother of Scarlet, the child whose murder had brought Ruth and Nelson together. Ruth had even named her daughter Kate Scarlet. She had made the first move, reaching up to kiss Nelson, and the rest had followed rather naturally. Last night was only their third night together, so she has little to feel guilty about. If she can't have him in her life full time, then she will have to be content with the little he is free to share with her. Besides, Ruth has a daughter and a cat and a cottage on the edge of the Saltmarsh. Most women don't have that.

Ruth hears a quiet knock on her door, followed by Nelson asking whether she's awake. "I made you a cup of tea," he whispers hoarsely, trying not to wake Kate, who sleeps in the room across the hall. Fortunately, Kate is a heavy sleeper, and unlike most small children, has to be woken each morning.

Ruth is about to sit up in bed, but then remembers that she is naked, and that were she to sit up, her breasts would flop out for the whole world to see. It is one thing for Nelson to worship her body in the half dark, his mouth exploring her skin, while his hand cups her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple, but to have that same skin on display in the hard light of the morning is a step too far.

"Just wait a minute," she says, climbing out of bed to grab her dressing gown from over the back of the chair. Too late. Nelson enters the room, carefully carrying a mug full of tea. Ruth turns, embarrassed for him to be seeing her in all her abundant glory. Nelson is standing between the door and the bed, his eyes darkening as they move over her body, which she quickly covers with her dressing gown. Ruth is not beautiful like Michelle, and sometimes wonders what it is Nelson sees in her.

He moves to her side of the bed to hand her the tea. "I have to go home to shower and change," he says, bending down to kiss her. "I'm meeting Harry Pearce before he returns to London."

"Fun times," Ruth says sardonically, trying her tea to find he has made it exactly the way she likes it.

They both know that it may be some time before this happens again, if at all. Kate mustn't see them together in this way. There is always a risk she'll tell the first person she sees that, `Daddy slept in Mum's bed.' And then there's Nelson's guilt, which she knows he silently carries on his back like a sack full of stones.

Ruth reaches up to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand. As she draws her thumb across his day-old stubble, their eyes briefly lock. There is so much they would like to say to one another, but they never do, and perhaps never will. Ruth is the first to break eye contact before she drops her hand, and focuses on her tea. Soppy goodbyes are not her thing, and nor are they Nelson's. He quickly drops a kiss on her hair, and then leaves the room. She listens to his footsteps on the stairs, then she hears the click of the front door, followed by the throaty roar of the Mercedes as he drives away … back to the home he shares with Michelle, and his two older daughters, Laura and Rebecca. Ruth knows she can never compete with them, so she is having to be grateful for the small pieces of himself which Nelson is prepared to share with her.

* * *

In King's Lynn, Harry Pearce has overslept, having forgotten to set his alarm.

" _Shit_!" Ruth hears him saying through the fog as she climbs from the depths of sleep. "Shit shit _shit_."

" _Harry_!"

"I slept in."

Is that all? Ruth had thought that maybe they'd been robbed while they slept, or King's Lynn had been destroyed overnight by an earthquake, leaving the hotel intact, or the Queen had decreed that the secret service is no longer required. No .. that would be a _good_ thing.

"I have to meet Harry Nelson at eight."

"What time is it?"

"Fifteen minutes to."

"You can make it," Ruth says, yawning. "I'll just stay here until you get back." Ruth shuffles down beneath the duvet and closes her eyes, but not before she takes a quick peek at Harry's bare bum as he strides to the bathroom. _Nice cheeks_ , she thinks.

* * *

Nelson has only just sat himself at his desk, when he receives a call from reception. "Harry Pearce to see you, Nelson."

Nelson has suggested that Reception call him DCI Nelson, rather than just Nelson, but in this place, change occurs at glacial speed. He could get angry about it, but has decided to just accept it as the usual bollocks that it is. Nelson heads downstairs to see Harry Pearce, clearly rested, his face relaxed. What a difference a sleep makes. The two men shake hands.

"Ruth not coming?" Nelson asks, wondering should he have used the woman's more formal title, and given she doesn't have a title as such, Ruth would have to do. Besides, against his better judgement, Nelson enjoys saying the name.

"She's … still getting ready," Harry lies. The truth is that Ruth simply refused to get out of bed. "And I'm sorry I'm late."

Harry Pearce is thirty minutes late for his appointment, but then so was Nelson. He'd only just finished showering, when Michelle had rung. He'd listened while she prattled on about some outfit she'd bought for Rebecca, and how lovely Rebecca looks in it.

"How are you surviving without us, Harry?"

"Just managing," he'd said, struggling to move his thoughts from Ruth and Katie to his family. He'd considered himself lucky that Michelle hadn't tried to ring him at nine o'clock the evening before.

"Do you miss us?" she'd said playfully.

"Of course."

It should worry him that he can lie so easily to his wife of almost twenty-five years, but as time passes, it worries him less. He is a man who loves two women, so the odd lie or two is to be expected. He tells himself he is protecting Ruth and Katie, but if he's being honest, he's also protecting himself.

Harry follows Nelson to his office upstairs. "There is a bit of paperwork to be completed before your … colleagues can collect the weapons. We can't just hand them over, even if you are the secret service."

Harry is about to put Nelson right, saying that being Mi5, he can do anything he damn well pleases, but he rather likes Nelson, and the man could do with some credit. So Harry complies with Nelson's wishes, signing at the bottom of all six pages. "When I get back to Thames House I'll contact Special Branch, and they'll send someone to collect the weapons."

"And what about the body?" Nelson asks.

"I'll give you my number, and when Dr Galloway receives the results of the DNA profiling, then we can decide what to do next." Harry takes a card from the top pocket of his jacket, and passes it across the desk to Nelson. "If you can't get me on that number, then call Thames House, and tell them who you are, and that you need to speak to me. I'll let reception know to expect your call." Harry knows it is a lot of palaver just for a country DCI to go through to speak to a section head in Thames House, but if Harry has pegged Nelson correctly, then the man will enjoy making the call to Thames House.

Nelson accompanies Harry downstairs to reception, and they shake hands. "Give my regards to Ruth," Nelson says.

"And the same to Dr Galloway," Harry replies. "I like her," he adds, wondering why he thought to add that detail.

"So do I," Nelson says quietly, so quietly that Harry doesn't hear him. He watches as the old spy crosses the road to his car. Nelson feels rather self satisfied ... and smug. He is quite looking forward to dealing with Special Branch, and dining out on the story for months to come.

* * *

By the time Harry points the Range Rover towards the A10, it is past mid morning. Beside him in the car, Ruth is unusually quiet. Glancing at her, he sees that she is watching King's Lynn rush by her window, perhaps saying a silent goodbye to the town where they had become intimate for the first time while sober. Harry knows that Norfolk in general, and King's Lynn in particular, will always occupy a special place in his heart, as he hopes it will for Ruth. He is about to speak, to make some inane comment about the architecture, when he hears her voice, quiet, restrained, perhaps a little angry, ask the very question he's been dreading.

"Say that again," he says, not sure he'd heard her correctly.

"I said," Ruth says carefully, "did you have Sasha killed?"

That's what he thought she'd said, and he is shocked, although he also understands how she'd reached that conclusion. They are about to enter the motorway, so stopping to discuss this is out of the question. Once Harry has successfully joined the flow of traffic headed south, he replies to Ruth.

"Where did that come from?" he asks, his voice soft and careful.

"Did you?"

"No, Ruth, I didn't, and before you ask, I don't know who did, although I have my suspicions." When Ruth says nothing in reply, he continues. "You just have to look at the weapon used. Sasha's death, and subsequent interment, appears to be an inside job."

"FSB?"

"Probably."

"It was certainly made to look that way," Ruth says quickly, and Harry knows she has more to say. He doesn't have to wait for long. "It's too obvious," she says, "and the FSB are normally more subtle than that. I think whoever killed Sasha and buried him wants us to think it's the FSB. That way, we won't look any closer."

"Have you any ideas?" Harry asks after a long silence.

"Not really."

Harry feels frustrated with Ruth. After effectively accusing him of murdering an FSB agent, she has little more to say on the matter. "I know I'm the obvious choice, Ruth," he says, "but because I am, I couldn't approach him. Had I, I would have ended up in that church crypt beside him."

A quick glance at Ruth shows him that she agrees with his assessment. "We may never know," she says quietly.

"That … outcome is highly likely. Nelson shared with me this morning that the weapons had been checked for traces of DNA, and ..."

"They were clean?"

He nods.

* * *

Ruth Galloway sits on the edge of the bath in her cottage, watching over Kate as the child soaps the flannel, and then scrubs her own chest, neck and chin. Kate had already asked could Flint join her in the bath, but Ruth has had to remind her that cats don't like water.

"Sidney likes water. Sidney can swim," Kate pouts.

"Sidney is a cat in a book, Kate, so he's not real like Flint."

"I want to see if Flint is real."

"Believe me when I say that Flint is real. If you try to put him in the bath, he'll scratch you."

This is a conversation Ruth and Kate have had many times before, and each time Kate stares hard at Ruth, her lips protruding in a pout. "It's easy to see who your father is," Ruth says aloud, but to herself. Kate's resemblance to Nelson is at once a joy, and a reminder that Kate is growing up without a constant male presence in her home. Ruth also believes this has its advantages, such as no dirty socks left on the bathroom floor, no burping at the meal table, no tedious stories about previous girlfriends, and no football. Ruth suspects she may be prejudiced against the male of the species, although if Michelle ever kicked Nelson out of the house, she wouldn't say no to him were he to turn up at her door.

Kate soon forgets about bathing Flint – as she has every time she's insisted that Flint is dirty – leaving Ruth's mind to wander to other things.

Only a week ago she'd sent the results of the DNA tests from the skeleton in St David's church crypt to Ruth Evershed in the Home Office, asking to be informed of the results at her end, just in case Nelson needs to open a murder enquiry. It is not necessary, and it is not even her business, but it is a polite response to hers and Nelson's cooperation on The Day That Mi5 Came To Town, as Ruth now thinks of it. She could ring Ruth Evershed, or she could wait. She has decided to wait.

So the next morning when her phone rings just as she'd unlocked the door of her office at UNN, she is surprised to hear Nelson's voice.

"Have you heard anything from London?" he asks.

"Nothing. I sent off the DNA results, and I've not heard back. Is there any reason you need to know?"

"Just curiosity."

Ruth knows that like her, he just likes hearing her voice. They never say as much, but they each know. "I'm not expecting to hear anything more about the body in the crypt, Nelson. Our involvement ended when they left King's Lynn."

Of course, Nelson knows that. It's just that for a brief moment in time, having spies in King's Lynn had provided a touch of colour and excitement, not that his life is lacking in excitement.

"How's Katie?" he asks, and Ruth knows he's really asking: _Are you all right, Ruth? Are we still good?_

"Kate's fine," she replies, continuing speaking in code, "but I can't convince her that she's not yet ready to cook chips on her own, so we haven't eaten chips since ..."

And Nelson fills in the rest of her sentence himself. He would like to say more to Ruth, but he won't. He has a wife who loves him, and who believes he's been faithful to her since Katie was conceived. He can't bear to hurt Michelle, yet nor does he want to give up Ruth. Not for the first time, Nelson contemplates a world in which he can be married to Michelle, and yet openly love Ruth and Katie. Maybe one day.

* * *

Ruth and Harry are sitting on the sofa in Harry's office in Thames House, their bodies close, each with a glass of single malt in their hands. It is almost seven o'clock, and they haven't decided whether to spend the night at his, or hers, or perhaps to return to their own homes alone.

"Do you think we should let Nelson and Ruth know?" Harry asks after a long silence. Sometimes just being in the presence of the other is enough.

"I thought I'd email Dr Galloway in the morning. It would be the polite thing to do, after all, we kept her from her excavation site for several weeks."

"And I think that Harry Nelson deserves closure."

"Closure's not a word I've heard you use before, Harry."

"That's because it's a word I avoid .. like cool, or super -"

"Or YOLO."

"YOLO's an acronym," Harry corrects, "and a ridiculous one at that." He sips from his glass, before again turning to Ruth. "Is there any proof that Ilya Gavrik was involved?"

"None at all," Ruth replies, lifting her eyes to his. They are still in the early days of a romance which has taken ten years to bring to the boil, so in private moments such as this, they indulge in quite a lot of touching and eye-gazing. Ruth reaches out with her free hand, and places it on Harry's thigh. She watches him watch her hand, before placing his own hand over hers, slowly curling his fingers around her fingers.

"Was the report an open document?" Harry asks, and Ruth lifts her eyebrows in surprise.

"Of course not, but I didn't let that stop me. It clearly stated that a senior member of the military hired Yevgeny Stepanov – a private assassin - to murder Sasha Gavrik at a location well away from London. It didn't say why Norfolk had been chosen, although I suspect that the complex archaeology of the area made it an attractive option. The report stated that Sasha had been having an affair with the wife of the man who ordered him killed, a woman fifteen years his senior, who was planning to leave her husband to be with him. That officer insisted Ilya include Sasha on the London visit, so the murder could take place somewhere other than on Russian soil."

"What will happen to Stepanov?"

"Nothing. If he talks, or is arrested, he will be taken out by some other assassin. The military are very powerful in Russia, it seems. Sasha messed with one of theirs, and he paid the price."

Harry nods. There is a small part of him that thinks that had Sasha Gavrik been his illegitimate son, then the young man had behaved to type. What he had done was no different from what Harry had been doing with Sasha's own mother over thirty years earlier.

Ruth notes Harry's silence. "He wasn't your son, Harry," she says softly, squeezing his hand.

He lifts his eyes to hers, and she thinks he looks sad. "But he could have been."

Ruth nods. Could have. Should have. Wasn't. So much of what comes our way is down to chance. "Do you want to come back to mine?" she asks.

Harry squeezes her hand and nods. This has to be one of Ruth's better ideas. He stands up, drawing Ruth to her feet with him, and then leans in to kiss her. One door has closed, while another door has opened. Maybe one day soon they can both retire from the service, and maybe they can again visit King's Lynn. Harry is sure Ruth will be open to both ideas.


End file.
